


500 Words You Should Know: #378 Prodigal

by jasbo



Series: Piffle, Tinkerty-Tonk, and a Rusty Plane [5]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5921440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasbo/pseuds/jasbo





	500 Words You Should Know: #378 Prodigal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/gifts).



 

> #  prodigal
> 
> [ **prod** -i-guh l]
> 
> ** adjective **
> 
> 1. wastefully or recklessly extravagant: prodigal expenditure.
> 
> 2. giving or yielding profusely; lavish (usually followed by of or with): prodigal of smiles; prodigal with money.
> 
> 3. lavishly abundant; profuse: nature's prodigal resources. 
> 
> **noun**

> 4. a person who spends, or has spent, his or her money or substance with wasteful extravagance; spendthrift.

Jack looked down at Phryne’s laughing blue eyes and marveled. He was… here. The long months of waiting, wondering, voyaging were all in the past just when he had started to believe that the aching limbo of being without her was going to be the condition of his life forever.  

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” she murmured as he lowered his head to trail kisses down the long column of her neck, glorying in the way she threw her head back to give him greater access. He felt her shiver with pleasure and tightened his grip.

“Just what I was thinking myself,” he whispered into her ear, grinning as the tickle of his breath caused her to gasp and laugh.

She leaned back and looked at him, eyes sparkling. “I would never guess you would be so… reckless. So extravagant. How did you manage it, Jack?” A slightly worried frown passed over her features and he drew his thumb upwards between her eyebrows, eager to erase the lines that had formed there.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been a careful saver for years. I may not have inherited vast sums, but I could afford the journey. And the leave of absence. I’ve left a good man in charge of Collins. Everything is taken care of.”

Phryne smiled again then dug hastily in her evening bag as the taxi began to slow. “Here,” she said, passing a handkerchief to Jack and grinning mischievously. “You have lipstick…” He smiled in turn and took the cloth, wiping carefully while she applied a fresh coat to her lips and checked the rest of her maquillage in a small hand mirror. Retrieving her handkerchief from him, she merrily thanked the driver who had been stolidly ignoring their canoodling, letting Jack pay the fare and hand her out of the cab.

“Thank goodness you had the presence of mind to pack your tuxedo,” she said, straightening his tie with a pat.

“I know too much about you to believe I would either be allowed to trail after your London social whirl in a standard suit or expect you to stay at home too many evenings,” he rumbled and slid his hands underneath her wrap to pull her to him one last time, lightly brushing the briefest of kisses over her mouth so he wouldn’t disturb the fresh coat of lipstick.

“After what you did to me this afternoon, I might well be tempted to stay home more than you think, Jack,” she said, giving the final consonant in his name the resonant click that always seemed to accompany her most teasing statements. Taking his hand, she pulled him into the building and they rode the lift in smiling silence for a few moments.

“So how do you know this… Wooster bloke, Phryne?” He thrilled at the frisson just saying her given name gave him.

She gave him a strangely enigmatic smile. “Aunt Prudence knows an aunt of his. I was charged with delivering a letter.” His detective instincts went on alert at her odd change of mood and he wondered if she had slept with the man, but there was no time to think of a way to ask. He suppressed a tiny spurt of jealousy, telling himself that was a sure route to madness.

Phryne rang the doorbell, which was promptly opened by an astonishingly tall, broad butler who gave a small, respectful bow to Phryne and a nod to Jack. A hubbub of upper-class English voices rose behind the man as he ushered them in and took Phryne’s cloak. Phryne smiled playfully up at the butler, who merely bowed again and extended an arm to welcome them into the party. “Madam,” he said solemnly.

The naughty smile lingered on her lips as she took Jack’s arm and they entered the crowd. Really, Jack thought with amusement, you never knew if Phryne was going to flirt with the focus of a stooping hawk or with the prodigality of a sudden rain shower. Somehow, within seconds the butler reappeared with a pair of drinks for them on a silver tray. Jack wondered how a man of his bulk and stolidity managed to move so swiftly and easily through this scrum.

“Thank you, Jeeves,” she drawled slightly as she picked up her martini. Jack thought he saw the barest softening of eyes and the hint of a smile on the butler’s face, but the expression was gone when he turned to present the other drink to Jack. Jack nodded his thanks as well.

“Sir.” And with that, the man was off again.

Jack turned to Phryne. “Surprised you haven’t tried to hire that man away. He’s almost the equal of Mr. Butler.”

Phryne choked a bit on her drink and Jack patted her back, puzzled. “What did I say?” he asked.

Getting herself under control Phryne smiled brilliantly at him again. “Nothing, Jack, dear. Nothing. Just… wrong pipe.”

“Ah.” Jack was mulling over whether he should try to pry the truth out of her when a delighted tenor voice sailed over the aristocratic din.

“Miss Fisher, you made it!”  A slim young man with curling hair and popping blue eyes squirmed between two party-goers whose oblivious indifference restricted his movement towards them. He bowed very correctly over Phryne’s extended fingers and turned a genial but vacant gaze to Jack.

“Mr. Wooster. May I present Mr. Jack Robinson,” Phryne said coolly. The two men shook hands and Jack thought how odd it was to hear him introduced without his constabulary title. But it certainly wouldn’t do in this setting to have anyone think he was involved with the London police. He thanked the man for the invitation to the party.

“I appreciate that you do not mind the last-minute addition to your guest list,” Jack said gravely. Wooster waved a hand.

“Oh, tush. Always jolly to have one more. And my man Jeeves, he’s—” suddenly, the servant in question was standing before them.

“Sir?” he asked, respectfully tilting his head.

Jumping like a startled rabbit, Wooster waved a hand again. “Oh, good man, Jeeves. Proper feudal spirit to appear like that at the call of your name, but I didn’t actually need…” He noticed the tray that Jeeves held out to him, which contained a fresh drink and laughed feebly. “Oh. Right. Topping initiative. What ho.” Placing his empty glass on the tray, he retrieved the full one and turned again to Jack and Phryne.

“So, Miss Fisher, you ran away quite suddenly the other day.” Wooster wagged a finger and grinned gormlessly at Phryne, whose own smile in return was positively chilly.

Jack was intrigued. This seemed like just the sort of flirtation she would respond to in her sleep. Instead, she was rebuffing the man. Or trying to. He seemed too oblivious to take the hint. Jack watched, amused, as Wooster tried serve after serve, with no attempt at a return volley from Phryne. Finally, Phryne wound her arm around Jack’s and smiled in a glitteringly off-putting way, saying, “Mr. Wooster, it has been a delight, but I believe I see Mr. Little trying to get your attention.”

Jack looked up into the crowd and did see a rather gingery-looking fellow a few feet away, gesturing avidly to Mr. Wooster. Jack noticed that the man’s gaze flicked from Wooster to Phryne and back again like some sort of oscillating machinery.

“Ah.” Wooster’s face became unexpectedly grim. Or as grim as his overbred features could manage. “If you will pardon me, Miss Fisher, Mr. Robinson.” Bowing slightly to both of them, he walked over to his friend. Jack watched in astonishment as Phryne suddenly downed her drink. “Jack, we’re leaving.”

“What just happened?” Jack said, astonished. “And why didn’t I see any patented Phryne Fisher flirtation with that poor half-wit?”

Phryne looked at him as if he was being rather unusually slow. Which he supposed he was. “Jack. We have just been talking with the second-most susceptible young man in all of London. He has just gone to talk to the _most_ susceptible young man in London. I may be naughty, but I am not cruel.”

Jack stared at her in astonishment. “Susceptible? How?”

She gave him a grim look. “They propose marriage. Frequently.”

Jack tilted his head, considering, and heard Little’s voice boom from across the room. “Bertie! A tender goddess!”

Slugging back the last of his drink, Jack nodded. “Right. Let’s get you out of here.” He deftly steered Phryne through the throng and were met by Jeeves in the foyer with her wrap. “Thank you,” he said, taking the garment from the butler and wrapping it around Phryne’s shoulders. Jeeves opened the door and softly wished them a good night.

Descending to the ground floor in the lift, Jack pulled Phryne to him. “I can’t say I am at all sorry that our time at the party was so… brief,” he said, his mouth nibbling around the edge of her ear. “If it takes genteel twits proposing marriage to drive you back into my arms, I say bring on the bended knees.”


End file.
